


Laqueus

by brokentoy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Lace Panties, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentoy/pseuds/brokentoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He expected to walk in, lose his clothes and get fucked against the closest flat surface or, at the very least, to come with Derek’s pretty lips around his cock. And instead...</p>
<p>…instead he walks in and finds Derek hard and waiting for him. In lace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laqueus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dedougal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/gifts).



> This is for akadougal because she's awesome, and for triedunture because it's also her fault if I'm into this.

“You...—uh.”

Stiles stands by the open door, the light from the hallway projecting his own shadow deep into the room until it stops inches from the bed. He stands there for seconds — a minute maybe — an interminable time as he tries to process what it is, exactly, that he’s seeing.

  
He is speechless.  
  
He is...  
  
“—fuck.”  
  
Stiles closes the door and takes a step inside.

***  
  
Derek doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. Stiles would think Derek’s not even breathing if it weren’t for the imperceptible tremble of his stomach: it rises and lowers under the weight of what little air he’s pulling into his lungs and Stiles marvels at the movement of the muscles under the surface of Derek's skin, the line of dark hair leading down and disappearing under the little scrap of fabric.  
 **  
**

He looks...

****

Stiles takes a deep breath and another step towards the bed, his uncoordinated body failing him as he ungraciously sheds his shoes, his socks and he just— _keeps staring_.

****

Derek looks gorgeous. If Stiles thought he could get away with it he would say Derek looks _exquisite, ravishing_ and all the million dollar words that make his mouth water with the need to get on his knees and lick him up.

****

He keeps his distance though, a mere foot from the bed as he takes the whole extent of Derek’s naked body in, the way he’s sprawled with his legs slightly parted, just enough for Stiles to catch a glimpse of the heavy weight of Derek’s balls behind the fine thread of lace. They’re barely visible, hidden behind the little scrap of material hugging Derek’s cock so tight Stiles can perfectly see the shape of him; the fat swell of it, emphasized by the slow, tiny motions of his hips as he tries to keep himself from humping on air, and the red, plump head peeking and held tight against his flat stomach by the the hem of the panties.

****

_Panties_.

****

Stiles never knew teal could look so good on Derek.

  
_—and yeah, Stiles knows what teal is. he has the soul of an artist, all right?_

_**** _

And the lace...

****

Stiles loses half his brain cells trying to imagine the feel of fabric against his tongue, and the other half trying to keep himself from jumping Derek and climb him like a fucking tree in fucking _lingerie_.

 

He feels Derek’s eyes on him; in his peripheral vision Stiles sees him, distantly like through a thick fog  — like from miles away and not right there, in front of him— squirm over the sheets and shuffle his legs nervously. Stiles wants to look up and onto Derek’s face, _really_ , but he can’t tear his eyes away from the very place they’re glued on and Stiles’ mouth hangs open, inelegant and wet, until Derek’s cock twitches and he clears his throat and speaks.  
  
“Stiles,” Derek says, rough and commanding and so very calm; his voice doesn’t betray him, but Stiles can see right through him and he knows. He _knows_.  
  
“Yeah,” he nods. He licks his lips and climbs on the bed still clothed, eager and fitting perfectly in the V of Derek's legs. “God Derek, you look...”

Stiles’ hands run up along the length of Derek’s thighs as the words die in his throat. They scrape along the way through the fine hair and over the tender skin on the inner side until the tips of his fingers are just inches from Derek’s cock; not touching yet, not even stopping Derek’s hips from pushing up against his hands. He can see the tiny patch of darker fabric where Derek’s dick is...christ, it’s fucking _leaking_. Drops of precome sticky on his stomach, running down the length of him from the tip right to the part where skin meets panties — _panties!_ — that keep him pressed and right in place; and suddenly all Stiles wants, all he ever wanted, it seems, is suck through that same little spot and make it bigger, wetter with his mouth.

****

He touches the fabric softly, the pads of his fingers ghosting over it. It’s impossibly soft and delicate, giving under the pressure of Derek’s obvious arousal, and Stiles shifts a bit in place to adjust himself.

****

He was not prepared for this, not in the least. Sure, he came up to Derek’s room anticipating — oh well, _expecting_ — sex. That’s their thing lately, that’s what they do.

****

He expected to walk in, lose his clothes and get fucked against the closest flat surface or, at the very least, to come with Derek’s pretty lips around his cock.  

****

                                                                                _derek’s lips are perfect and the inside of his mouth is the place where stiles’ dreams come true._

****

And instead...

****

…instead he walks in and finds Derek hard and waiting for him. In _lace_.

 

Stiles feels his heart beat hard and unsteady against the cage of his ribs, a flush spreading through his cheeks as he rakes the blunt edge of his fingernails through the ridges and embroidered details of the little — so little it doesn’t really hide anything, fuck — scrap of fabric; they catch and press the lace a bit tighter and Derek fucks his hips up into the air once again, catching himself on a groan.

****

“You, uh—” Stiles finally looks up as he speaks and Derek is there, staring at him unwavering and flushed. Their eyes hold as Stiles slips a finger under the leg of the panties, hooks it and tugs a little to let the material slide across Derek’s skin again. Derek’s hips push up once more, automatically seeking friction. “—you like it!”

****

Derek looks away; he huffs out a flustered sound and doesn't answer, but Stiles doesn't really need him to. He only needs to look down between Derek's legs and tug again, watch as a round, fat drop of precome pulses out and down into the fabric to wet it into a deeper shade of blue.

****

Stiles’ mouth waters and his dick hurts into the confines of his jeans, twitching in time with Derek's in some kind of attempt at sympathizing.

****

He wants to ask Derek why now, what made the difference. Why did he change his mind and is he really sure? But Stiles’ heart is beating hard enough Derek must be able to pick up every stutter and vibration against his ribcage and he doesn’t really want to talk, not when he could latch his lips over Derek’s flesh and hump his leg until they’re both a shaking mess.

****

Thing is, Stiles likes those panties very much; so much he wants to ruin them beyond recognition. He wants so see them lose their brand-new shine, that quality of yet-untouched that needs to go as soon as possible. He wants them to smell like Derek, to smell like _him_ , and he doesn’t lose a second more to lie down on the mattress and put his face where it should be.

****

He pulls the lace with his fingers one last time, looks up at Derek and says: “If I don’t touch...I if just lay here and stroke you like this...you would come just from that wouldn’t you?”

****

Derek’s legs open wider, his hips pushing right into Stiles face, the smell of him strong into the air between them. The wet little stain grows bigger, the rough texture drenched in Derek and Stiles just wants to _taste_.

****

“Fuck, Stiles, come on,” Derek pants, and Stiles likes the desperation in his voice a little bit too much.

****

He lets the point of his finger travel up the length of Derek’s dick over the lace, slowly until he feels the ridge of the head; the part where it gets a little bit bigger, a little bit wider. “Would you?”

****

Derek growls, but even as he does so he nods once, frustated.

****

Stiles moans at the thought of it, hips grinding into the mattress to relieve some of the tension, and he does them both a favor and speeds things up, not losing another second before his mouth is at the base of Derek’s cock and sucking it through the lace.

****

It doesn’t add much to the taste of him, not really, but Stiles can feel it under his tongue; so different from the smoothness of Derek’s skin, the warmth of him a bit tempered by the added barrier but still there if Stiles sucks hard enough.

****

He pushes Derek’s legs wider, slips his hands under them to grip his ass and push him further against his mouth, and Derek lets out this satisfied sound...a tiny little thing that makes Stiles wonder if what they have is far more intimate than what they _do_. Makes him think about Derek’s embarrassment in all this, and how he didn’t give enough of a fuck about it to not do it just for Stiles.

****

Stiles humps the mattress trying to not get himself off too soon but he’s still too turned on by Derek’s response to all this, and his tongue travels up to the tip of Derek’s cock, wet and ready for it.

****

Derek is hot. Hot as _attractive_ , yes, but also as fucking warm as hell. Stiles knows this by now but he’s still shocked when his lips find Derek skin to skin, when the lace is not there and Derek’s dick springs free of it to find his place in Stiles mouth. He’s hot and spurting precome copiously on the flat of Stiles tongue and he moans around it, can’t help it as his hands squeeze Derek and push him further into his throat.

****

He feels Derek’s hand find his head, push it down to choke Stiles on his dick and Stiles loves it, loves every second of it as he makes a mess of it, drool leaking and slicking Derek up. He’s mindless and uncaring as Derek fucks his face quite happily, murmuring approvals and curses like it’s nothing, like he’s not completely laid bare for Stiles’ fantasies, like he’s not _his_.

****

Stiles chances a glance up and Derek’s head is thrown back, his chest flushed a deep red and his mouth open and bitten raw. He’s fucking gorgeous, is what he is, and Stiles’ hand comes back between Derek’s legs to touch him right behind his balls. It’s not a caress, not a lingering stroke of fingers, but a little push of his thumb to get him there.

****

Derek comes, pulsing and filling Stiles’ mouth so right, so perfectly that Stiles wants to cry for the joy of it.

****

It’s enough to get away from the tight ring of his lips as Stiles takes a ragged breath, enough to slide down Derek’s cock, to soak the panties up real good and make them useless. Make them even prettier than they were in the beginning.

****

Stiles likes those panties.

****

He hums, happy and still on edge as Derek tries and fails to come down, to steady the frantic beating of his heart that Stiles can still hear through the faint spasms of his dick. He’s not always this unguarded, this relaxed and blissful, and Stiles would like to stop the world and get an eternity of this moment.

****

What he does, instead, is climb over him, using Derek’s body to rut against. Once, twice and then he’s there, straddling Derek’s chest and clumsily opening up his jeans to whip his cock out and give it a couple of unnecessary strokes.

****

Derek opens his eyes to look at him and _smile_ at him, and Stiles is ruined for life, coming all over his lips, his mouth and cheeks and nose, giddy with the force of it and fucking grateful.

****

                                                                                      _he thinks he loves him in that moment, thinks it like the truth it is and he’s not afraid._

****

What they do, what they have may be dangerous and get them killed, used against them by any of their enemies on any given day, but Stiles doesn’t care. He doesn’t care and he won’t give it up; he will clutch it like a treasure, hide it if he must, and as he curls around Derek and licks him clean he’s blissfully content in the knowledge that’s he’s not alone in this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
